Dome of Souls

By C. E. Smith

As the Dome of Souls is besieged by the forces of darkness, a chance event occurs. While eight-year-old Jeremy Reader innocently catches butterflies amid the rolling hills of Salisbury Plain, an explosion suddenly knocks him off his feet. After an angelic figure appears and magically inserts a key into his chest, Jeremy has no idea his destiny has already been decided.

Eight years later, the nightmares that have haunted Jeremy since he unwittingly took possession of the key are suddenly realized when he is attacked by winged demons. After salvation comes in the form of an angelic figure who teleports Jeremy to a distant planet, the teen’s life is forever changed. As Jeremy and his savior, Jo, attempt to elude their pursuers and return the key to the aged Keeper, they travel back in time where they become embroiled in the events unfolding at the end of World War II, and then back to the present as Jeremy transforms into the Keeper with a new mission: to suppress the forces of darkness and bring back the light of goodness.

In this action-packed fantasy, an unlikely hero and his savior seek to restore the balance of good and evil in the universe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Nov 7, 2019
• ISBN: 9781532087462

C. E. Smith

C. E. Smith is a graduate of Queen’s University and author of the first three books in the subterranean adventures series: Draupner’s Curse, Giants of Anglesey, and Yggdrasil: The World Tree.

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Copyright © 2019 C. E. Smith.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-5320-8745-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-8744-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5320-8746-2 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2019918173

iUniverse rev. date: 11/07/2019

Contents

PROLOGUE

PART ONE THE KEEPER

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

PART TWO DESCENT INTO DARKNESS

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

PART THREE AFTER THE ECLIPSE

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

To my soul mate, Monica

Special thanks to Darik Smith

for designing the cover

PROLOGUE

We have to go, the commander of the Inner Ring said with a heavy heart. As the words rolled off her tongue, the thought of abandoning her post left a bitter taste in the commander’s mouth. Yet like her mother before her she had a duty to protect the Keeper.

Now! she uttered more urgently when the old man continued to dawdle, and then, in an unconscious gesture, she reached upward and touched her face, fingering an old battle scar visible on her prominent left cheek. It was the only flaw that could be found anywhere on the ageless beauty, whose neatly cropped fair hair and bright blue eyes complemented an athletic figure clad in a tight white jumpsuit.

A silver cuff bracelet, three inches wide and tapered to fit snugly around her wrist, glistened in the unusually bright light. It made the tall, gaunt figure standing beside her blink.

Is there really no hope? the Keeper asked. The haunted look on his wizened face betrayed the fact that he probably already knew the answer.

The commander shook her head. I’m afraid not.

I don’t understand, the Keeper muttered. How could anyone break through our defences so easily?

As much as she hated to admit it, there was only one explanation for the collapse of the Dome’s outer defences: six stone walls—some as much as thirty feet high by ten feet thick—built to form a ring of concentric circles around the most important building in the cosmos. Someone must have betrayed them.

But who? the Keeper wondered, when the commander shared her feelings with him.

We’ll worry about that later, the commander told him, as the sounds of a bitter struggle permeated the walls of the hemispherical structure. Once we’re out of danger.

The Keeper sighed heavily. Then, in a voice suffused with sorrow, he said, From the darkness came the light. And before too long, the universe will be thrown into darkness once again.

Then it’s up to us to keep the key from falling into the wrong hands. Or the darkness, when it comes, will last for an eternity.

Just then a loud explosion rocked the Dome and, as the Keeper lost his balance, he stumbled into a lectern-like stand. Made of gleaming white marble, it was set in a shallow depression in the equally white, marble-tiled floor. A disk-shaped view screen in the centre of the slanted top displayed a static image of the cosmos; a glimpse of the real thing—including the three brightest stars in the constellation Orion—was clearly visible through the see-through roof of the spacious Dome. On either side of the view screen were a pair of knobs; three were for the spatial coordinates, the fourth for time. Below the view screen a clear crystal key about the size of the Keeper’s elongated middle finger was inserted in a star-shaped keyhole.

Hurry! the commander implored him, when the racket outside grew louder. Set the coordinates and activate the teleporter.

With his vein-streaked hands shaking uncontrollably the Keeper turned the knobs, one after the other, and with each adjustment the image in the view screen changed. Eventually the settings were fixed, much to the commander’s relief. However, just as the Keeper went to grip the key, a second explosion blew a gaping hole in the wall of the Dome and spewed debris every which way. A chunk of flaming metal hit the old man square in the back. Driven forward into the stand, he touched one of the dials and unwittingly altered the setting.

Unaware of the change and the unforeseen consequences, the commander grasped the Keeper’s limp left arm and hooked it over her shoulder. She then wrapped her right arm about the flowing white robe cinched tightly around his scrawny waist and went to draw him away from the stand.

Wait! the Keeper cried out. I didn’t get a chance to activate the teleporter.

The commander was tempted to say she had waited long enough. However, until the teleporter was activated, they wouldn’t be able to leave. So she held her tongue until the old man depressed the key and turned it counter-clockwise.

Grab it and let’s go! she yelled in his ear, as a shadow appeared in the opening.

The Keeper promptly complied. Yet, no sooner had he extracted the key than an armed figure, clad from head to foot in gleaming black armour, burst into the Dome.

With lightning quick speed the commander drew a laser gun from the holster resting on her left hip and discharged a high-powered beam of light.

The intruder collapsed and, as tendrils of smoke rose from a hole in his chest, the commander directed the Keeper towards a vertical shaft of light some four feet in diameter.

The beam rose from the floor in the heart of the room to merge with the translucent ceiling, and swirling around near the top, like some miniature galaxy, was a gaseous, crab-shaped cluster composed of a zillion pinpricks of light. Each speck of light was the spiritual embodiment—in essence, the soul—of an unimpeachable corporeal entity that had once inhabited the cosmos. The commander and the Keeper stepped into the beam and under the swirling mass just as two more dark figures entered.

Determined to stop the pair from escaping, the invaders pointed their laser guns and fired. And while the deadly rays penetrated the shimmering shaft, they passed harmlessly through the rapidly dematerializing form of the commander and the Keeper.

PART ONE

THE KEEPER

CHAPTER 1

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JEREMY READING WOKE WITH a start. Not from the same dreaded nightmare that had plagued him for years, but from the awful feeling he was supposed to be somewhere else. Just where he couldn’t quite remember since his mind was still muddled with sleep. Then a beam of sunlight penetrated a gap in the patchwork curtain covering the teen’s bedroom window and, as dust motes danced before his tired eyes, he recalled with sickening clarity exactly where he was supposed to be. With a heavy groan, he tossed aside the bed sheets and rolled his lanky body out of bed.

Jeremy, dear, he heard his mother holler through the scuffed and faded floorboards at his feet. Shouldn’t you be getting ready for work?

The teen glanced at a clock on the night table next to his bed and noticed that it was already half past seven. At the very least it would take him twenty minutes to get to work. That left him with just ten minutes to take a shower, get dressed and grab a bite to eat. Since there wasn’t enough time to do all that, he sniffed his armpits to see if he could skip the shower. And although the scent wasn’t pleasant, he had smelled much worse.

Intending to scrub his armpits, then mask the odour with deodorant, he collected his clothes—a somewhat wrinkled, albeit spotless, T-shirt and jeans—and, opening the bedroom door, strode into the corridor.

How do you want your eggs cooked? his mother yelled up at him, as he came to a steep stairway abutting an outside wall and was assailed by the smell of fried bacon.

I don’t have time for a big breakfast, Jeremy shouted back down.

He knew for a fact that she wouldn’t be pleased, especially since she was trying to fatten him up. It was something she had been trying to do—without much success—for years; more so in recent months since a growth spurt had managed to add four inches to his decidedly gangly frame. At sixteen, he was already six-foot tall, and with no idea when he would stop growing, what began as a challenge had become an obsession with her. As he stepped inside the bathroom, he waited for her to go into her spiel about taking better care of his health. Then he closed the door and, depositing his clothes on the floor, turned the faucet on full blast to mercifully drown her out.

You look like hell, he said to the bleary-eyed reflection in the mirror, paying particular attention to the two dark shadows beneath his emerald green eyes.

As if to wash away the unsightly blotches, he splashed warm water on his otherwise handsome face, scrubbing it dry fiercely with a towel. Then he ran a wet comb through his thick black hair and attempted to control the unmanageable cowlick in his crown. Having virtually no success, he gave up and got dressed, making a point of coating each armpit with deodorant before he donned his shirt.

By the time he rushed downstairs and hastened to the kitchen he had just enough time to gulp down a glass of milk and give his mother an affectionate peck on the cheek. This seemed to mollify her somewhat. However, as he was heading out the door, she made him promise that he would get something more substantial to eat once he arrived at work.

He retrieved his ten-speed from the tool shed next to the barn and, after wheeling around a muddy crater—one of many that riddled the gravel laneway leading up to the family farm—he jumped on the bike and set off for work.

At the end of the lane he paused as a battered truck rattled by, emitting a cloud of thick black smoke. He waited a bit longer for the noxious fumes to disperse before he turned right and followed in the truck’s wake.

Although the sun was shining brightly, it had rained so hard the previous evening that many of the fields along the way were more or less flooded; the torrential downpour must have gushed down from the surrounding hills and, with the soil already saturated, gathered in shimmering pools. As a young boy he had enjoyed running up and down the rolling hills of Salisbury Plain, chasing butterflies to catch and add to his collection, or playing tag with friends. But then something terrible happened.

He was eight years old at the time and because he was alone there were no other witnesses to the nightmare that still haunts him to this day; a nightmare which began on what should have been a perfect summer’s day.

Taking advantage of a rare opportunity, he was hoping to add an Adonis Blue to his collection. However, in his zeal to capture the elusive Lepidoptera, he failed to notice that the sky overhead had turned a malevolent shade of blue; it was a sharp contrast to the butterfly’s sky-blue body and wings. By the time he heard the thunder rumble it was too late to even attempt to make it home. So he did the next best thing—or so he thought. He scaled the nearest mound and headed straight for the cover of an ancient megalithic tomb, surrounded by moss-covered stones. Unfortunately, just as he was about to seek shelter a bolt of lightning sliced through the air and struck the tomb, splitting the capstone in two.

The force of the explosion knocked him off his feet and, as he lay on the ground, too stunned to move, a beam of light more brilliant than the lightning bolt appeared before his startled eyes. He shielded his eyes from the blinding glow and watched as what appeared to be an angel and a frail old man materialized within the beam of light. The old man handed the angel something that sparkled like a precious jewel. Then the angel emerged and, smiling serenely, extended her hand to him.

He thought at the time he was dead and they had come to take him away. So he rose and reached out to her. However, instead of taking his hand, the angel pressed the shiny object against his chest, sending waves of the most excruciating pain coursing through his veins and plunging him into darkness. Three days later he woke to find himself lying down in a bed in a ward of the hospital. And although he knew differently, everyone, including his parents, believed he had been struck by lightning. It didn’t seem to matter that he had an odd, star-shaped mark on his chest which no one could explain. The fact that he had survived was a miracle and the mysterious mark—now a permanent scar—was of no consequence to them.

The sound of a kestrel shrieking overhead brought him out of his reverie and, as he rode past the mound where the broken tomb overlooked the sodden landscape, he put a hand to his chest. And when his fingers touched the scar he felt a twinge of pain that nearly made him cry out.

As the memory slowly faded, he continued at a comfortable pace until the sound of bells clanging in the distance made him aware of the time and, realizing he was going to be late, he leaned forward over the handlebars and began to pedal like the devil was after him. About a minute later he arrived at the burger joint where he worked.

He was just in time to see a short, jowly man, bald as the day he was born, unlock the front door then flip a sign to indicate the place was open. Coming to a skidding halt, he jumped off the bike, tossed it aside and rushed inside the building.

With a curl of the lip, the bald-headed man looked him up and down. You look like you just got out of bed.

I forgot to set the alarm, Jeremy replied, gulping for air.

I’m not interested in excuses, the man said shortly. Do something about that hair of yours. Then go help Maddie get the place ready for business.

Yes, sir, came the submissive response.

The man grunted. Then, as Jeremy turned and strode away, he sensed the man’s gimlet eyes follow him all the way to the washroom.

He was afraid the man might still be around when he re-emerged a few brief moments later with his hair plastered down with water, but fortunately he was gone. With a sense of relief, he ran the palm of his hand over his damp hair to make sure the cowlick behaved. Then he walked over to the serving counter where a sloe-eyed girl with a swarthy complexion was busy adding condiment packets and plastic cutlery to a two-tiered rack. A clock on the wall behind the slight, exotically pleasing figure indicated that it was exactly one minute past the hour.

One of these days he’s going to realize you set the clock back, Maddie said, when she noticed he was observing the time.

Until then, Jeremy said with a smug smile, the only one who knows I’m late is you. And you’re not going to tell him … She gave him a cat-like grin. You wouldn’t?

Why not, she said, humour dancing in her eyes. That way he can get rid of you and hire someone who actually does some work.

Usually Jeremy was uncomfortable around girls. However, Maddie was the exception. Her easy-going nature and playfulness made him feel like she was just another one of the guys. And that’s how he often thought about her. Then again, there were times when he felt differently, and this was one of those moments. As he grabbed a wide-bristle broom and began sweeping furiously, he thought to himself that none of the guys he knew looked quite so hot in shorts. Noticing that she was busy, looking the other way, he stole a glance at her shapely tanned legs. Then he quickly brushed past her and navigated around to the other side of the counter.

For the next little while he ran the broom over the floor, appearing to make a difference even though it had already been swept clean by the staff who had worked the night shift. As he slowly made his way towards the front of the restaurant, he considered asking Maddie out on a date. It wasn’t the first time the thought had entered his mind. But each time he got up enough nerve to ask her—she was two years older than him and clearly more mature—baldy would yell out an order or the restaurant would suddenly fill up with customers. By the time he was free again he no longer had the courage. But that’s not going to happen this time, he vowed, as he flipped the broom upside down and shouldered it like a rifle. I’m going to walk right over and ask her out while I have the chance. Lamentably, even before he got to make his move the bell above the door tinkled and someone else entered.

Well, if isn’t, Alfalfa, a familiar voice grated in his ear. What are you doing, going off to war?

Jeremy released the air he had been holding in to inflate his not so manly chest and, like a balloon stuck with a pin, he suddenly felt deflated.

Of all the people who could have walked through the door, it had to be Morgan Riley. Once the best of friends, Jeremy had made the unfortunate mistake of sharing his innermost thoughts with the hulking great brute, including his own interpretation of what had really happened eight long years ago. He had regretted it ever since.

Then again, maybe you’re getting ready for an alien invasion. Morgan pushed past him and, as he did, he clapped Jeremy on the back. Any air left in his lungs was forcibly expelled.

Caught unawares, the broom slid off Jeremy’s shoulder and hit the floor with a clatter. He gasped and broke into fits of coughing, and through the tears that pooled in his eyes he watched the bane of his life saunter up to the counter with more confidence than he would have ever been able to muster. Then, in a loud, self-assured voice, he heard the lout ask Maddie when she got off work. He didn’t hear the response, but the smile she gave Morgan told him everything he needed to know. With an inward groan, Jeremy retrieved the broom and began to attack the floor with a vengeance.

The rest of the day didn’t go much better and Jeremy was really looking forward to hitting the road after his shift was through—at least until he stepped outside.

Seeing the dark clouds gather in the distance and sensing the direction of the wind, he thought, not unwisely, he should wait inside until the storm had passed. But then he saw Morgan Riley cross the street and, as their eyes met, he knew unequivocally that he couldn’t bear to face the lout again. So he did the unthinkable. He jumped on his bike and headed straight for the approaching tempest.

From the onset the wind was a nuisance. However, as long as he kept his head down and his eyes on the road, he was able to cling to the shoulder without having to constantly look up and see where he was going. It kept the grit out of his eyes and allowed him to concentrate on pedalling.

But then it became downright dangerous, blowing in gusts and hitting him head-on or from the sides and causing the bike to wobble all over the road. At one point the bike was tossed into the path of an oncoming vehicle and the driver barely had time to swerve around him, leaning heavily on the horn. As Jeremy veered sharply left the bike skidded off the road and, for a few harrowing moments, it looked as if he was going to wipe out on the loose gravel. As luck would have it he came upon a natural curve in the road and, as the wheels rolled back onto the pavement, he was able to regain control of the bike.

Not for the first time he thought about turning around and heading back to town. But just like before an image of Morgan Riley appeared in his mind’s eye and, no matter how dark the sky was, he decided to continue. It was a decision he would soon live to regret. Until then, he lowered the gears to ease the burning in his legs and, once again, bowed his head to wind.

For the next little while he battled the howling wind, fighting tirelessly for every inch of asphalt. Sometimes he advanced. Sometimes the wind was just too strong and he actually lost ground. Throughout it all he never once glanced up.

At one point his lungs were about to burst, and when he paused to catch his breath, he finally raised his head. What he saw as he ran a hand through his mussed up hair, brushing it back away from his eyes, took his remaining breath away. For the second time that day he found himself gasping for air.

For the longest time he sat there mesmerized, watching in horror as a funnel cloud sprouted from the base of an anvil-shaped raincloud and rapidly began to expand. Within seconds it was a full-blown tornado as tall and dark as the raincloud. And as its violently rotating tail touched the ground it began to stir up the debris along the side of the road, giving rise to an ever-expanding dust bowl. It was only when the wind pelted him with pebbles and loose bits of grass that he suddenly realized he was standing in the twister’s path. In desperation, he abandoned his bike and ran.

At first he thought about staying on the road and using his long legs to outrun the advancing menace. But when he glanced back and saw the whirlwind engulf his bike, he knew the idea was just as foolish as his decision to avoid Morgan Riley. If only he hadn’t confided in the oaf. They’d probably still be friends and the danger he now faced could have been averted. Sensing the wind growing stronger on his back, he realized that what’s done is done, and the only thing that mattered now was making the right decision. With that single thought in mind, he veered off the road and cut across an open field.

He was expecting to feel a sudden gust of wind as the twister blew past the spot on the road he had occupied just a few short moments ago. Then, he thought, it would be like the calm after the storm. But the calm never came. Instead, the whirlwind took an unexpected turn, just like he had done, and began to tear a wide strip out of the field he was traversing.

It was almost as if the twister had a mind of its own, and now that it had Jeremy in its sights, it was not about to let him go. A cold dread washed through him at the thought. But it was nothing compared to the fear that gripped him when he realized to his dismay that the mound he was facing led straight to the ancient tomb.

He would have gone another way, but that was out of the question. The dust cloud swirling around the base of the tornado was almost upon him, so he had no alternative but to reach the top and duck inside the tomb—the only possible refuge—before he was caught in the maelstrom.

For a moment, it looked like he was going to make it. But just as he crested the hill and headed for the relative safety of the tomb, he tripped on an exposed boulder; one of many that littered the wind-swept mound. He threw out his hands to break his fall and came down hard on his left arm. Winded and numbed by the pain, he lay perfectly still.

As the world went hazy around him, he closed his eyes and pressed his face to the ground. Then he did something he rarely did—he prayed for a miracle. But the roar of the wind was deafening and he doubted even the Almighty could hear him.

Eventually he felt a strong upward tug and his body became elevated and, for several agonizing seconds, only two things kept him earthbound: his will to survive and a lichen-covered stone. As he clung to the ancient marker, the grit in the dust cloud stabbed him like so many needles and pins. Finally, just when he thought he could hold on no longer, the wind abated and he flopped back down to earth.

He waited until the dust had settled before he raised his head and, upon seeing the twister move away from him on the other side of the mound, he realized that his prayer had been answered. Overcome with emotion, he sprang to his feet and, raising his arms to the heavens, hollered, Thank you. Thank you.

He should have saved his breath because no sooner had he cried out when two demonic creatures shot diagonally upwards out of the descending whirlwind and, screeching like banshees, made wide arcs in the sky. Then, as their paths crossed, they turned downward suddenly and swung in his direction.

While one of the demons bared its fangs and flew directly towards him, the other demon circled around.

Recognizing that it was futile to run, Jeremy reached down and scooped up a good-sized rock. Then he cocked his arm and waited for the demon to get closer. However, just as he was about to hurl the stone, a thin beam of red light appeared out of nowhere and struck the creature’s exposed underbelly. The demon squealed and dropped like a rock, landing in a crumbled heap.

He gagged as the stench of burnt flesh and something akin to death permeated the air. Then he heard the other demon shriek, and when he turned his head he saw the creature attack his saviour with its formidable clawed feet. Both figures glowed as if they were on fire, but it was only a trick of the light. The source of the glow was a vertical shaft of light, in the background and seemingly as bright as the sun.

He thought at first it was the angel who was the source of all his nightmares, and his first instinct was to turn tale and run. Then he noticed that not only was she younger—about the same age as Maddie—but her face, although just as stunning, was flawless. And her fair hair was long, not short, with much of it pulled severely away from her face, to be gathered and secured at the back by a shiny metal clip. He also saw that the weapon she had used to slay the demon—a laser pistol of sorts—was on the ground, out of reach, and her flailing hands were being ravaged as she struggled to fend off her attacker.

Do something, she pleaded when their eyes met.

What? Jeremy thought, as his mind suddenly went blank. Then he felt something heavy in the palm of his hand and, realizing it was worth a try, he hurled the rock at the demon.

The demon must have had thick skin and an even thicker skull because, even though Jeremy threw a strike, the rock did little more than bounce off its noggin. So he tossed a second rock and then a third.

It was the third rock that did it. And when the demon paused to hiss at him, his saviour dove to the ground. Then, in one fluid motion, she somersaulted and retrieved the weapon, firing blindly as she came out of the roll. As the beam struck a heavy metal band wrapped around the demon’s neck, the affronted beast shrieked and made a hasty retreat.

In the ensuing lull Jeremy’s saviour rose and, in a voice so calm she might have been asking him to go for a stroll, she invited him to come with her.

Flooded with memories—and none of them good—Jeremy flinched at the sight of her blood-spattered hands.

Don’t be stupid, she said, suddenly losing her temper. Can’t you see I’m trying to save your life?

I can take care of myself, Jeremy assured her. As if to prove his point he reached down and picked up another rock.

Up went her brows. A lot of good that will do you against the likes of them.

It took